


Night Out

by AraSigyrn



Category: Husbands (TV)
Genre: Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, M/M, Situational Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-21
Updated: 2012-10-21
Packaged: 2017-11-16 18:57:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/542752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AraSigyrn/pseuds/AraSigyrn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the "Humilation (Situational)' & "Dirty Talk" squares on my kink bingo card.</p>
<p>" <em>"Ok," Brady agrees eagerly.  "Absolutely, that's-that's fine...why are you smiling like that?" </em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Night Out

It's Brady's fault.

This, he thinks miserably, describes everything that goes wrong in this marriage. (Except possibly the actual getting married - that was only 50% Brady's fault...maybe 60%) Cheeks probably keeps a list. Or at least, a history of Brady's screw-ups on his phone. 

This particular screw-up's probably written in CAPS and bright red. Cheeks has been talking about this premiere for _weeks_. Some friend of his had written the screenplay and Daniel Craig was going to be there – something like that. Brady had promised to come up until Coach had kept him back for three hours of pitching and batting practice. The team's doing so well that he doesn't want to be the one who screwed it up but it’s amazing how little consolation that is in retrospect. Cheeks is going to hate him. Brady doesn't do well when Cheeks is upset; he can't keep his foot out of his mouth.

Still, he actually can't stand outside the apartment building forever. Jerry, the doorman who has never forgiven Brady for putting his team out of the World Series, is watching him with beady eyes and he will totally call Cheeks or the police if Brady keeps hanging around like a crazy stalker.

Brady's publicist already hates him. If he gets himself arrested, she's going to kill him. Literally. After the whole Vegas thing, she's taken to reminding him that she has no less than five places where she can hide his body.

He swallows, squares his shoulders and goes inside. Maybe Cheeks is asleep?

"I cannot _BELIEVE YOU!_!!!" 

Brady ducks the cushion, wishing for the first time in his life that he'd been better at football than baseball. Football players get to wear pads and armor. Cheeks has totally been holding out on him. If Brady survives this, he's going to try taking him to pitching practice.

"YOU PROMISED!" Cheeks yells. "YOU SWORE YOU WERE GOING TO BE THERE!" 

"I know, I know," Brady says desperately. "I am so sorry. I just got caught up, I swear!" 

"Caught up?" Cheeks sniffs, hands on his hips. "You FLAKED."

"I know," Brady holds his hands out. "I am a terrible human being, I know. It was totally my fault and I am really, really sorry!" 

"Hmph," Cheeks flops into the couch, arms folded and lips puckered in a pout. "You suck." 

"I do," Brady says, too relieved to make it an innuendo, and edges out from behind the armchair. "But I swear, I'll make it up to you?"

"How?" Cheeks demands.

"I'll-," Brady stammers for a second. "I'll go to Club Masque with you?" 

Cheeks looks around sharply, head tilted and eyes narrowed. "What?" 

"That thing-the one your," Brady has to bite his tongue for a second. "The one your ex invited you to? I'll go to that with you. Coach owes me for last night, I should be able to get the night off."

"You'd come to Club Masque," Cheeks draws the words out. "Without me twisting your arm."

"I'll even let you dress me?" Brady offers because Cheeks isn't screaming anymore but there's still a lingering chill in the air. "I don't even know if I have the right clothes for-"

"I want total control," Cheeks says immediately. "No veto." 

"Ok," Brady agrees eagerly. "Absolutely, that's-that's fine...why are you smiling like that?" 

"No reason," Cheeks bats his eyes.

####

"oh my god," Brady stares at himself in the big, beautifully lit mirror that dominates the bathroom and wonders if he could drown himself in the shower before Cheeks finds his eyeliner. He's running out of cabinets to search, so probably not.

"Don't look at me like that," Cheeks says over his shoulder and Brady looks down and is momentarily distracted. The low-belted jeans make Cheeks' ass look _fabulous_. "You are totally allowed to look at me like that. At least for the next four minutes. Haley’s not going to pay for the taxi to idle on the doorstep so we can fuck. Plus, she says we have to include her if she's right there and we're making her late." 

"She did not!" Brady flails a little. That has to be the most terrifying image he's ever thought of.

"She didn't," Cheeks pops back up and kisses his cheek. "But I was going to stay in to fuck you if you'd kept looking at me like that." 

"Why can't we do that?" Brady whines.

"Because I like you when you're eager," Cheeks says airily and smacks his ass. "Plus, you aren't getting out of ditching my premiere that easy, or didja think I'd forgotten?"

There's not really anything he can say to that. Brady sighs and shuffles out of the bathroom, tugging uselessly at the waistband of his jeans. He's not too self-conscious about his body and these jeans aren't ones he minds wearing. He just prefers to wear them with actual underwear instead of the ruffled, lacy _thing_ he's wearing right now. 

He has no idea where Cheeks even got lace ruffled panties in his size. They're _pink_ for fuck's sake! Not the soft faded-red pink that Brady embraced whole-heartedly when he came out – no, these are a bright, vivid pink that can't be any other color but pink. It even has a pink leopard print bow on the front which Brady can't hide without pulling the front of his jeans up so far that pretty much his whole ass hanging out 

Brady's not surprised that Cheeks doesn't give him time to grab a jacket so Brady goes out to the waiting taxi - with Haley waving out of the back seat - with his shoulders around his ears and pink frilly underwear showing between his skinny black jeans and the dark grey t-shirt hugging his chest. 

There are two wolf-whistles between the door and the cab and, for the sake of his sanity, Brady is choosing to believe that that first whistle isn't familiar and absolutely could not be Jerry. Cheeks beams around and loops his arm around the upper curve of Brady's back. Brady has never been so grateful to dive into a cab in his life. (Also, Brady would have been totally happy to arrange a limo! Then he stops to think about it and no. Even Cheeks' neighborhood isn't used to limos and the last thing Brady wants is more attention.)

So, naturally, because Brady married a sadist when he was drunk and stupid, Cheeks stops the cab four blocks from the club and makes them walk the rest of the way.

It's Weho, so it's not like Brady's afraid of a hate-crime or anything. He's probably not going to be able to sit down, like, ever again. He's not used to being the one who's cat-called. Cheeks is the one who radiates 'Come fuck me' like the sun radiates heat and less than half a block down the street, Brady starts wondering how the fuck he handles it.

Brady feels like he’s walking down the street with a spotlight on his ass. He's not self-conscious about how he looks; not as such. Playing ball and endless practice keep him in shape and Brady was totally hot enough to pull Cheeks back before the whole wedding thing. Brady's just always aware, when they go to Cheeks' home turf, that he doesn't spend nearly as much time doing his hair or make-up. He's never going to be a pretty boy and Brady's made his peace with that.

"Love the pants," a bear wearing a Little Red Riding Hood costume (Brady is _so_ not asking) shouts, "Why don't you come over to mine and I'll help you get them off!"

"Cute," Cheeks hollers back. "Look but don't touch, bitch!"

"I don't see your name on him," Little Red Riding Bear calls back.

"Just wait 'til I get him to a tattoo parlor," Cheeks waves his ring finger at the guy. "Also, my ring, my man. Fuck you."

"Name the time and place," the bear's last comment is cut off by the traffic as Brady drags Cheeks and Haley across the road.

"Oh honey," Cheeks' hand dropped to squeeze his ass. "It could be worse. We'd never have gotten rid of him if I told him how much you get off on sucking cock." Brady chokes, cringingly aware of the crowded sidewalk around them and Cheeks' ability to project his voice. "Besides, he so wouldn't have been able to keep up with you."

"There's a liiiiiiine," Haley whines, yanking on Brady's arm. "God, why is there always a line?" 

"Pffft," Cheeks snorts. "It's fine, honey. How have you not learned by now that you're with me and I don't do lines." 

"But it's not Walt on the door," Haley chews on her lip. "I mean, I guess we could flash Brady's ass at him?"

"Excuse me?" Cheeks leans around Brady, "Please to _not_ pimp out my husband?"

"Oh, yeah," Haley kisses Brady on the cheek. "Sorry, Cheeks." 

"Damn right," Cheeks sniffs again. "I’m the only one allowed to pimp out my husband. Be ready to shake your ass for me, baby."

Brady's too mortified to remember exactly how they get into the club. He does know it takes far too long and every, single, young, inhumanly pretty twink in the line is staring at his underwear for every second of it. Also, Brady is finding that lace is one of those things that don't offer nearly as much draft protection as he remembers it having the last few times Cheeks got him into lace. He can feel every gust of air from the air-conditioned club and he's achingly aware of how every shift of his hips makes it more and more obvious to everyone looking at him.

"Love watching you move your ass, babe," Cheeks leans up to whisper in his ear. "But you're still going to have to wait 'til we get home, or at least until I get a few cocktails in me, before we get to fuck, okay?"

Lace and hard-ons really, really did not mix. Brady tugs his jeans, trying to readjust the fit as discreetly as possible as the new bouncer unclips the velvet rope then Cheeks hauls him up the steps and inside and Brady is hyper-conscious of the ruffles he's flashing the whole world. The bouncer turns to look after him, eyebrow quirked.

Cheeks seems to know every single person in the club and Brady is left trailing behind like an ungainly shadow. Pink ruffled underpants are also gay cat-nip or something because Brady has never been so aware of his own ass. Or so aware of people staring at it.

Brady never really did the clubbing thing before he came out. Too much glitter, too many people and the few times he had risked it, he'd spent the whole time watching over his shoulder for the reporters or baseball fans. He'd always wanted to go to the club, always imagined it as some sort of pocket paradise. 

Then he'd actually gone to a club and every single person had been younger, prettier and a thousand times more confident than Brady was ever going to be. That hasn't changed. The people - exotic and beautiful, beautiful people - are still way out of his league. He still feels like everyone's staring at him.

"Love your ass," Cheeks tells him randomly. "So fine."

"How much had you had to drink?" Brady asks. Cheeks giggles. "Let me rephrase that, how many colors have you had?" 

"I'm not drunk," Cheeks leans in to nip his ear. "I'm just thinking how fine your ass looks and how I'm going to jack you off while you're wearrrrrring them." 

Brady chokes on his tongue. "There are people-?!" 

"Oh, I know," Cheeks flashes sharp white teeth at him and there's something hot and dark in his eyes that makes Brady feel a hundred degrees hotter. "Brady Kelly, All-American Sports Star, wearing such flamingly gay panties out in public where anyone might see him..."

Brady clears his throat. "I-, uh, I said I'd make it up to you?" 

"I know," Cheeks tips his head to blink at Brady and Brady watches his eyelashes, feeling his throat dry out. "But you actually hate it, don't you?"

"Uh, yeah?" Brady shrugs a shoulder, feeling clumsy in his own skin. "I'm not..."

"Not an exhibitionist?" Cheeks finishes for him. "You don't like all those pretty boys staring at you."

"I-" Brady hesitates. Having Cheeks' undivided attention makes him twitchy and prone to blurting out stupid things. He doesn’t like it, not really. What he does like is the dark gleam in Cheeks’ eyes and the way he keeps touching Brady, casually asserting his claim every few seconds. Brady likes that a lot more than he should.

"I like it," Cheeks says, voice dipping into a low purr. "You're so cute when you're flustered."

He slides a hand down to finger Brady's ruffles. "And that green glow? Is so not coming from the floor lights."

"Uh," Brady says intelligently. Cheeks leans up to kiss him, openmouthed and sloppy.

"Now," Cheeks leans back enough to lick his lips. Brady feels his hand, sweaty and warm against his back as Cheeks presses close enough to breathe against Brady's lips. "You're going to buy me at least four more cocktails. We're going to dance. I'm going to soak up the envy. Then we're going home - to bed - and we're not coming up for air until Sunday, at the _earliest_. Sound good to you, baby?"

"That-" Brady squeaks as Cheeks cups his half-hard dick, thumb rubbing down along the seam. "That-that sounds good?"

Cheeks slides away towards the bar, snapping the elastic to make Brady jump as he goes. Someone - or several someones - giggles. Brady barely notices.

Lace really, really didn't work with a hard-on.


End file.
